Take the Place of You
by NYgoldfish54
Summary: Portman left Julie and their boys a long time ago. Now, years of absence later, Portman’s back. Julie doesn’t know where she can fit him in…or even if she wants him around.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Take the Place of You  
**Rating: **PG-13, at least for now, may change later…  
**Summary:** Portman left Julie and their boys a long time ago. Now, years of absence later, Portman's back. Julie doesn't know where she can fit him in…or even if she wants him around.  
**Feedback: **Go on, review, I dare ya…  
**Dedication: **For Cimmy, because I can't write a nice, angsty Connie/Guy one shot in less than six months…  
**Special Thanks: **To Schiz, my new beta, who's being so wonderful and correcting all my stupidity, I thank her here. Thank you Schiz!!!  
**Disclaimer: **All the Ducks belong to Disney. Jack and Chase are mine.  
**Story Notes:** I have no idea how long this story will be. It depends how far my ideas take me. I only have the beginning and end worked out, but the end is subject to change. It takes place when Julie and Portman are 34, and Jack and Chase are 14. Fulton will also play a big role in this story.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

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"Hey Mom, we're going to practice, see ya later!" Jack calls from the hall to the kitchen, where I'm cutting up potatoes for dinner.

"All right. Chase, wear your helmet!"

"Aww, Mom, come on, it squeezes my head!" Chase says.

"That's the point! It _protects_ your head! Wear it, Chase, or I'll have you off that team so fast-"

"-it'll make my head spin. I know, I know, you always say that. Bye Mom!" Chase finishes my sentence.

"Be good, boys! Have a good time!" I call.

"We will," they say in unison, and I hear the door slam. They're gone, off to spend another afternoon at hockey practice, which I generally don't mind. I'm

glad that they're into hockey, mostly because I love it so much, and I want them to love it as well.

I guess I ought to explain who 'they' are. 'They' are Jack and Chase Portman. Jack and Chase Portman are my identical twin boys. They're fourteen years old,

brown-haired, blue-eyed, and they are my universe. The pair of them play hockey all the time, eat more than I thought humanly possible, and somehow maintain a

healthy weight. I love hockey, and was thrilled when they took an interest in the sport after seeing a couple of games on television.

I put the potatoes in water and into the refrigerator for later, when I actually have to cook them. I then take a seat on the living room couch with the paper,

hoping that Chase keeps his helmet on. It's the only thing I really have to worry about for them playing hockey. But other than that, I don't have to worry about hockey-related injuries too much. My boys are 5'11, 165 pounds, and still growing. They're big…like their father.

Their father. Their father. Their no-good, scum-sucking, low-life schmuck of a father, who knocked me up when I was 19. Their father, who swore he loved me,

and married me. Their father, who left when we were 22, and our boys were 2, without warning. Their father, whose idea of a decent goodbye was a note telling

me that he felt trapped and couldn't stay anymore. Their father, who broke their mother's heart. Their asshole of a father, known to the rest of the world as Dean Portman.

That's right, Portman. Hockey enforcing extraordinaire, tough, ruggedly handsome Portman. Even after all these years, he's still Portman. Not Dean…never Dean.

Just Portman. There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about Portman. And the idiot foolish enough to sleep with him, and then marry him, was me. I'm

Julie Gaffney. I changed my last name to Portman when we married, but after he left, I changed it back to Gaffney. Julie Gaffney flows so much better than Julie Portman, and why hang on to a last name that isn't yours? My boys are still Portmans, though. I figure if he ever wants to find them one day, he can look for his own name, as he'll probably have forgotten mine…

He doesn't come to see me. He doesn't come to see them. He sends a child support check once a month. He doesn't call, he doesn't instant message, he doesn't

write. Actually, that's not completely true. On Jack and Chase's birthday, he sends them each a card with a fifty dollar bill in each, and says something like 'Jack/Chase- Happy Birthday! Love, Dad' in it. It's not much, but I suppose it's better than nothing at all. They used to ask me questions about him whenever

they got their cards, and we ceremonially put the bills in their separate little piggy banks for someday. Now they don't ask questions, pocket the money, and use

it go buy nice things for themselves, or their girlfriends, or occasionally me.

For a long time, Jack and Chase couldn't understand why their father never came to see them, or why they were the only ones in their classes who didn't have a

father in their home, or close by. They remember him, vaguely. I had hoped they wouldn't because it would save me the painful answers to the questions they were

going to ask.

"Mom, why doesn't Dad ever come and visit us?" Jack had asked me randomly, one afternoon, when he was six.

"Daddy's busy, honey," I'd told him, unsure of what else to say.

"Yeah, Mom, will he ever visit?" Chase had asked.

"Hopefully when he's not so busy anymore," I told my son.

Well, 'Daddy' must have been continually busy for the past twelve years, because he hasn't found a single minute to spare and spend with his twin boys.

I think Jack and Chase had hoped for Portman to come back until they were about 10. It was around that age they stopped asking me questions about him. Now, they don't bring it up and I don't either. I don't enjoy remembering those first five years after Portman left.

I had just finished college, and was working my first job when Portman left. He obviously quit his job, and so then I worked two jobs to make up the difference

in money. I barely had time for my kids or to take care of the apartment we lived in. I began to drink a little more than I should have.

Fortunately, before things got too far into the gutter to save, Fulton Reed showed up. He's an old friend of mine and Portman's from our old hockey team,

the Ducks. Ah, the Ducks: Charlie Conway, Adam Banks, Connie Moreau, Greg Goldberg, Kenny Wu, Guy Germaine, Dwayne Robertson, Dean Portman, Fulton Reed, Luis Mendoza, Russ Tyler, Les Averman, and me. Way back in high school, before I was Julie Portman, or Julie 'with-two-kids' Gaffney, or Julie

'the-idiot-who-got-knocked-up-when-she-was-19' Gaffney. Way back when I was just Julie Gaffney, or Julie the Cat…Julie the Cat, I miss that nickname…damn, those days are so long gone.

Anyway, Fulton noticed that Portman didn't answer his calls and wasn't showing up to hang out anymore, and came over to investigate. I told him what happened,

in hysterical tears, and he became an important part of our lives. Fulton, between his life and job, found the time to come over and help out and do stuff with the kids after Portman left. He sent me to an alcoholics' program, right away, when he found out about my drinking, even though I hadn't developed a serious habit by then.

Fulton is Jack and Chase's father figure. Fulton's the one who turned on the television to a hockey game, the same game that sparked the boys' interest in

the sport. He took them to the park on those Saturdays when there was nothing else to do. He was the one who took them to their first hockey game. He taught

them to skate while I worked winter weekends so our family would have a decent Christmas. He stayed with them while I worked nights. When Jack and Chase got older, Fulton was the one who explained to them the birds and the bees, because I couldn't find the words.

I'll be forever in Fulton Reed's debt for those first five years. He doesn't come over as often anymore, since things have changed. I've saved enough money

to work one job, Portman started sending checks once a month, and the boys got older. But he still comes for things like the boys' birthday, my birthday, big hockey games on TV, and some holidays. Every year we take Fulton out for his birthday…which reminds me, that's coming up soon. I'd better find a nice place

to take him out to.

"Hey Mom! We're home!" Jack's voice comes echoing through the apartment.

They're home? Have I been sitting here daydreaming for that long already? I glance at the clock. It's already 5:30 PM! They left at 2:30! I'd better start dinner now.

"Mom, are you ok?" Jack asks me, looking concerned.

"I'm fine, sweetheart, how was practice?"

"It was very…practice-ish," says Chase, who comes teetering into the room under the weight of his huge hockey bag. Looking at Chase, I realize a huge bruise is

now on his cheek that hadn't been there when he left.

"You didn't wear your helmet, did you?" I ask my son.

"And disobey my dear mother? Never," Chase grins at me. "I got into a fight, that's all."

"A fight? Why? With who?" I can't help but smile at him. I should probably be telling him off for fighting, not acting like a school girl and giggling about

it, but kill me, I'm curious. Curiosity killed the cat…

"One of those guys on that other team that takes the ice after us..." Chase's voice trails off, and then he looks at Jack. "The Wasps, was it?"

"Yeah, the Wasps," Jack nods, and then turns to me. "You should have seen Chase take the guy out, Mom!"

"Are you alright, Chase?" I ask.

"Never better," Chase grins.

"Alright. Why'd you have to 'take the guy out' like Jack says?"

"Well…" Chase and Jack exchange a look. I know that look. It's the same look Connie and I used to exchange when we had to tell Charlie something we really

didn't want to.

"Well what, Chase?"

"He was calling you a whore, Mom," Chase says quickly, as if the words would be less painful if I heard them very fast.

"Really? Why?" I ask, a bit shocked.

"Because, well, you…" Chase stutters.

"Cause you got pregnant at nineteen and then Dad left you all alone…it's that kid, Jaime Riley," Jack's face contorts as he says the kid's name.

"Jaime Riley? You mean Rick Riley's son?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well that explains a lot…" Rick Riley, captain of the Varsity hockey team the Ducks' freshman year in high school when we were on JV, somehow ended up at the same college I did. He found out I was pregnant and spread it around. I'm not sure how he found out, exactly, but I think he overheard me talking to

Connie when she came to visit on Visitor's Day.

"Hey Mom, we're really sorry-" Chase begins, but I cut him off, realizing that I have to be a mother now and tell my sons off for fighting- even if they were

sticking up for me.

"Listen, don't worry about what Riley says from now on. Ignore him. I don't want you fighting, Chase, you'll get yourself into a lot of trouble that way. You

too, Jack."

"But he was calling you-!"

"I don't care what he was calling me. Don't fight unless you're defending your own physical well-being. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mom," Chase sighs.

"You too, Jack?"

"Ok, Mom," Jack sighs as well.

"I mean it, you two," I say in the sternest voice I can muster.

"All right, all right, we will, we will," Chase says, rolling his eyes.

"So what's for dinner?" Jack asks, looking anxious to change the subject.

"Pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots, and applesauce."

Both my sons decide this is a meal they approve of, and head to the bathroom to clean up for dinner.

Jack, Chase, and I are sitting down to watch television after dinner when the phone rings.

Jack picks it up. "Hello?"

Silence for a few seconds. Jack stares at the receiver before answering this time, and then says, "It's Jack."

Silence for a few more seconds.

"I'm fine, how are you?" Jack's voice is very strained. Who's on the other end of the phone? An ex-girlfriend?

Silence again.

"Yeah, she's here."

'She' must mean me. It's not an ex-girlfriend; she wouldn't be calling for me. Silence again while the person on the other end of the line speaks. Who could it be?

"I guess she'll talk to you," Jack says, and hands me the phone.

"Who is it?" I ask, covering the mouthpiece with my hand.

Jack looks at me, confused. "He says he's Dad."

I look at my sons. Confusion and shock are written on both their faces. I look down at the phone, and notice my hand is shaking. God, oh God, what do I do?

"Mom?"

"What, Jack?"

"Are you going to talk to him?"

I nod numbly, and ignore the questioning looks in my sons' eyes, and bring the phone up to my ear. "Hello?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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"Julie, babe, is that you?" I hear Dean Portman's voice for the first time in twelve years. It sounds exactly the same as it had the night before he left. We'd had sex the night before he left, all the time he swore he loved me, would love me forever, would never leave me…and he was gone in the morning.

"No, it's Barbara Streisand. Who do you think it is?" the bitterness of my own voice surprises me, and he doesn't answer. "Sorry," I mutter.

"Forget it. How's it going?" he asks me.

"Fine. How are you?" I ask back in a voice of forced calm.

"I'm alright," he says, and for the first time his voice sounds strained.

We sit in silence for a minute, and I notice that Jack and Chase have turned off the television and left the room.

"Do you have a reason for calling, Portman?" I ask. No use beating around the bush. What the hell does he want? Why would he call tonight? Why would he call at all?

"Oh! Uh, yeah, I do, I just…" he starts, but I cut him off.

"You just, what?" I snap. I'm so confused right now. I don't know what to do. Somebody help me…

"I'm in town, and I want to see you," he answers flatly.

"Oh, how nice, what should we do? Have tea?" my voice is dripping with sarcasm. I can hear it. It's kind of scary.

"Cut the bullshit, Julie; I want to see you…and the boys."

"Oh, you remember them, huh?" I ask him, my voice still sarcastic.

"Of course I do. Are you kidding?"

"Not really. You've been to see them, what? Never in twelve years? Listen, we're busy, we can't just drop everything-"

"I'm not expecting you to. We'll meet whenever you want. What's good for you?"

"How about...never?" I finally lose it. "You just expect me to meet you some place? Are you kidding me, Dean Portman!? You walk out for twelve years and you just expect me to-"

"Julie, listen. I just want to see you and Jack and Chase. Please, you can bring someone if you want, if you feel like you need another person, please Julie…" he begs me.

What do I do? I want to go, but I don't. I want to see him, but I can't. What will the boys think? How will they react? What do they want? Maybe I'd better ask them before I do anything? It would allow me to buy some time, to think things over, to let me sleep on it…

I must have been quiet a while, because I'm brought back from my own thoughts by Portman tentatively asking me, "Julie? Are you there? Are you alright?"

No, I'm definitely not alright. "Could you call back tomorrow night? I have to think about it," I tell him finally.

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Do you need the number?"

"No. It's listed. Besides, I memorized it a long time ago." He memorized it a long time ago? What? "I'll call you tomorrow, Julie, around the same time."

"Goodnight Portman."

"Goodnight, Julie...I love you."

I hear his phone click, and I put mine down as well. I think I'm in shock. Who the hell does he think he is, just showing up after all this time? Why does he have to show up? Why does he want to hurt me? Why does he have to call? Why couldn't he just leave us alone?

"Mom, are you ok?" Chase asks me, as he and Jack reenter the room, and I have the nagging feeling they were standing right outside the door.

"I'm fine, why?"

"You've got tears running down your face," Jack informs me, handing me a tissue from where we keep the box on the coffee table.

I wipe my tears away, slightly ashamed for crying, and do some quick thinking. What do I do? Should I tell them their father wants to see them? Or should I pretend the whole possibility isn't out there, and he just called about money or something? I'd rather do the latter, and just keep Portman out of all our lives at this point, because he could want to take them from me. I won't let them go…but I guess he does deserve to _see_ them. After all, he is their father. But the bastard's been gone for years and has never even called them. He _doesn't_ deserve to see them, because he's been a horrible father, if you can even define him as one, for twelve years.

Wait a minute. This is Portman we're talking about. Even if I don't want him to see the boys, he'll find a way to do it anyway. I didn't want to sleep with him yet, but he somehow got me to do it anyway,_ and_ somehow convince me it was a good idea. If he wants something bad enough, he'll get what he wants, just because he's Portman. Nothing stops him.

I guess I'll tell the boys what they deserve to know, and save Portman the effort of sneaking around trying to get at the boys anyway. Not that I want to make life easier for him, but he'll get what he wants anyway, and I'll then have to find out about it, which will lead to a fight between my sons and me, which I don't want.

"Was it really him?" Chase asks hesitantly.

"What did he say he wanted?" Jack asks before I even get to answer.

"Yes, it was really him," I tell them.

Chase looks excited, Jack suspicious. They don't even bother to hide it. They're hockey players. They wear their hearts on their sleeves…like I used to, once upon a time, back when I could do what I wanted; way back, when I could say what I pleased and feel what I felt and talk to people about it…before I had kids to set an example for.

Before Jack and Chase, I could be afraid, happy, sad, or angry and not have to worry about what other people thought. Except maybe the Ducks, and my parents, I didn't care about any of those other people. But now I have to be strong, for my boys. I can't be sad, it'll upset them. I can't be recklessly angry the way I was back when I was a freshman in Eden Hall. It's not that I mind doing that for them, it's more that I wish sometimes I didn't have to because they didn't need me too. I guess it's the same thing. I guess I'm not a great mother.

"What did he say he wanted?" Jack repeats his question.

"Straight to final jeopardy, huh?" I ask Jack.

"Oh, sorry," Jack mumbles.

"Don't be," I tell him. "He wants…he wanted to know if…he's…you and Chase…"

"Mom, take a deep breath, think of what you're going to say, then spit it out, because you sound schizophrenic right now," Jack says.

"Thanks, Jack, thanks," I roll my eyes.

"Cut it out, Jack. Come on Mom, what'd he say?" Chase looks so eager about this. I guess they've missed having a father more than I thought.

"He said he's in town, and that he'd like to see us all one day, whenever we wanted." There, I've said it…come what may.

"And are we going?" Chase asks, still looking excited.

"I don't know, I told him we'd talk about it, sleep on it, and he's supposed to call back tomorrow…" I look at the phone, half hoping he calls and half hoping he doesn't.

"Well, Mom, are we?" Jack still looks suspicious, and there's a hint of hurt betrayal in his voice. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Chase has missed having a father. Maybe Jack hasn't forgiven Portman for leaving. I know I haven't.

"It's up to you two," I decide. If they want to see their father, and face him, they've got every right to. "If you two want us to go see him, well then, we will."

"I want to go," Chase says immediately, his voice quivering with excitement.

"So do I," Jack says. But Jack's voice is different than Chase's. Jack sounds like he's skeptical, like he wants to see if this is for real. I wonder if he's angry, or furious, even, like I am? Maybe I should ask him? No. I'll let him sleep on it, like I'm going to.

"When do you guys have a free afternoon?" I ask them. I'll clear my schedule, take off from work, I don't care. But the boys might not want to screw up their hockey schedule.

"Any time that's good for you, Mom," Chase says.

"Ditto," says Jack.

I don't think we have anything to do Saturday. "How about Saturday?" I ask them.

"Any time before 4:00, because we have a game," Jack says, and Chase gives him a look, but nods in agreement.

"Fair enough. Why don't you guys get to sleep? Tomorrow's Friday, and you've got school," I remind them, and both of them groan. Wow, that is such typical teenage behavior.

"Do we have to?" Chase whines

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" It was Jack's turn to try to get me to change my mind.

"Positive."

Both of them groan again, but chorus 'goodnight, Mom' as they leave the room.

I think I'm going to call it quits myself. It's only 10:30, but I'm tired. These past few hours have drained me, especially mentally. I feel like my brain is tired.

I brush my teeth, put on the pajamas Fulton had given me for my last birthday, and crawl into bed. I have this habit of sleeping on top of the sheet, and under just the comforter. It's weird, really, and I don't know why I do it. I just always remember doing it. Portman tried to get me to switch to going under the sheet when we were married, and I did for a while, but when he left, I stopped doing that, and went back to sleeping on top of the sheet. Old habits die hard.

Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe I ought to give Fulton a call. Maybe he'd like to come too. After all, Portman was his best friend. I know Fulton misses him, even after all these years. He's too proud to admit it, but he's missed Portman since the second he found out Portman was gone. I guess old habits aren't the only things that die hard. I guess old friendships do as well.

That settles it: Fulton's coming. I'm bringing him. He's stuck by me all these years, and he's got as much a right to confront Portman as my family and I do. Portman was Fulton's best friend. It must have killed Fulton when Portman left.

I'm drifting off to sleep, still in some emotional turmoil over how I'm not sure if I really want to do this, when Portman's parting words come back to me. My eyes shoot open, and I sit bolt upright, seeing nothing but the inky blackness, and hearing those words again. I'd heard them before, but they didn't register until just now.

'Goodnight Julie_. I love you._'

Say _what_?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

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Sleeping really didn't help me much. I felt like a truck had hit me.

I had a dream about Portman. We were younger, we looked around high school age, and we were skating. Just skating. He was in front of me, but every time I tried to touch him, he got further away. It was so weird. I haven't had a dream about Portman in years. Sure, his memory still haunts me while I'm awake, but he hasn't invaded my dreams since Jack and Chase were seven.

I go wake the boys up for school, then fall back into bed, making a mental list of what I have to do today to prepare for tomorrow…and Portman's phone call tonight.

I have to call Fulton. Straight up, I have to call Fulton. Fulton has to be there, or I might die on the spot. I can't take this. I'm not strong enough for this. I'm not smart enough for this. I'm not a good enough mother for this.

"Mom, we're leaving!" I hear Chase call to me, half an hour later.

"Alright!" I call back, sitting up and deciding to take my shower, eat something, and then call Fulton.

-----------------

My shower was warm, my cereal cold, and my phone call was waiting--well, my intended phone call. I called in sick for work; I can't take going today. But I still have to call Fulton. What can I tell him? Fulton may go crazy and kill Portman in a fit of psychotic rage. I wouldn't blame him. I wasn't the only one Portman crashed an emotional train into when he disappeared. Fulton got hit, too. He just didn't show it like I did. He was strong. He had to be, or I wouldn't have made it.

I could lie to him. But what would I lie about? I guess I could tell him the truth--that I need him to come, because I can't face Portman by myself. I could tell him that I might die on the spot, or even kill Portman on the spot. That ass…

Stop. Stop. I can't go into a Portman rant right now. I must call Fulton.

I pick up the phone and dial Fulton's work number, as that's most likely where he is. I don't know what I'm going to say or how I'm going to ease this on. I guess I'll make it up on the fly--like Connie and I used to do in high school. We bullshitted our way through an entire philosophy class that way.

"Hello, Fulton Reed speaking," says a brisk, business-like, but familiar voice.

"Hey, Fulton," I smile. Fulton's voice is comforting, even if it is stern.

The sternness melts away when he knows it's me. "Hey Julie, what's going on?"

"Nothing really. Are you busy this afternoon?" I ask, realizing I should do this in person, not over the phone. Fulton deserves to hear this face-to-face, not now, when the phone hides me, like a plastic mask.

"Well, I have a lunch with someone I really don't like, but other than that, sure, I'm free."

"Can you blow off your lunch with that not-so-special someone, and eat here with me instead?" I ask, hoping with my whole heart that he can do this.

"I don't see why not. It's not really an important thing, and I'll just tell him my mom got sick and I had to buy her groceries," he laughs.

"Are you sure you can?" I ask. I don't want him to get fired because of me.

"Yeah, I'm positive," he says.

"Good. I'll see you at around noon, then?"

"Sure…hey Julie?"

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you at work?"

"You'll find out this afternoon, I promise. Talk to you soon?"

"Talk to you soon, bye Julie."

"Bye Fulton."

I hear the click as he hangs up the phone, and I hang up mine as well. Hmm…I guess the question now is what I should make for lunch.

I've settled on an Italian hero sandwich for lunch (I bought it, I didn't make it). Fulton likes those sandwiches, so maybe this will help soften the blow. Or maybe it won't. Who knows, at this point?

At 12:05 the doorbell buzzes, and I don't even bother to ask who it is before I open it.

"Hey Fulton," I smile, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Hey Julie," he says, hugging me back.

"Come on in," I say, taking his coat and hanging it on the wall. A few years back Fulton made me something to hang coats on--it's a long, rectangular piece of finished pine with brass hooks--because, living in an apartment, we don't have much closet space.

"So why the sudden necessity to have lunch together?" Fulton jokes, following me into the kitchen where I have two pieces of the sandwich on a plate. He takes a seat at the kitchen table.

"You're my friend, Fulton, do I really need a reason to call you and have you over for lunch?" I joke back, placing a plate down in front of him and taking a seat on the other side of the table.

"So you don't have a reason other than you wanted me to visit?" he says, taking a bite of his wedge.

I bite my lip. "I actually do have a reason…but we'll get to that. Let's eat first. How's work?"

"I have a new boss."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's the same as the old one except he screams louder."

"He yells at you?" I ask as I pour him and myself some Coca-Cola.

"He yells at everyone, not just me. Me, my assistant, janitors, my superiors, visitors, guests, the cafeteria ladies, and he was even screaming at the vending machine the other day for eating his quarter," Fulton says, good-naturedly.

I snort into my Coke. What was said wasn't particularly funny, but Fulton says it in such a way that it's hysterical.

We continue to eat and make talk for a while, mostly about how horrible our jobs are and my kids. When we're finished, I get up to make some coffee.

"Screw the coffee, Julie, let's go for some hot chocolate," Fulton says, watching me pull out the beans.

"Hot chocolate? I thought you didn't drink that anymore since you spilled it all over your new white carpet and damned the stuff to hell?"

"I've slowly let it back into my life. It wasn't easy, but we're becoming friends again."

I smile and pull out the Swiss Miss packets.

When it's ready, I put the mug in front of him, and he takes a slug, swallowing slowly to savor the first taste. "Hot chocolate," he says in a romantic voice, "sweet, smooth hot luscious liquid. How I've missed you."

I giggle and take a sip of my own. It is good. Normally, I think Fulton would have had a beer with lunch instead of Coke and coffee with liqueur instead of hot chocolate, but he doesn't drink around me. In his ongoing effort to keep me from ever drinking again, he doesn't drink alcohol in my presence so that way I'm not tempted. I think that's rather sweet of him. I think I can control my drinking now. It's been twelve years, and I'm not even sure I had a problem back then. But I have a funny feeling that Fulton knows better than I think I do, his mother being a former alcoholic.

"So, Julie," he says jovially, after taking another slug, "what's the reason you called me over here today?"

"I got a phone call last night."

"Cool. So did I. My mom called telling me she needs her vacuum fixed. Who's was yours from?"

My stomach suddenly twisted in a knot. I really, really, really don't want to tell him just because I don't want to spoil a good mood…and because I'm afraid. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of, but the feeling I have is definitely fear. But he has to know about it, because I won't be able to go with my boys to meet Portman tomorrow if Fulton doesn't come with us.

"The phone call was from Portman," I say slowly as he's taking another swig from his mug. Fulton, in his bout of surprise, spits hot chocolate all over the table.

"Portman?" he asks in a very strained voice.

"Yes, Portman," I answer timidly. For the first time in quite a few years, I remember how big Fulton is. Or maybe he's not so big. Maybe I just feel tiny.

"What did he want?" Fulton asks in the same strained voice.

I take a minute to gather my thoughts and think about how to say this. "He asked if Jack, Chase, and I would meet up with him some place. He wanted to see us."

"That ass!" Fulton bangs his mug on the table. Here comes the explosion. "He disappears off the face of the fucking earth for twelve years and now he wants to fucking see you!?"

Fulton doesn't swear much anymore. When he was younger he did, but since he became like a father to the boys, he keeps his mouth under control. He doesn't swear unless he's angry. He must be very angry right now.

"He asked to see you. What did you say?" he asks, venom in his voice.

"I said I'd see and told him to call tomorrow. He's calling tonight. I talked to the boys, and they want to go," I quickly answer.

Fulton swears again, and a few more seconds of angry muttering later, he calms down enough to ask, "What has this got to do with me?"

"He said I could bring a friend, if I wanted. I was…" I trail off. He's so angry. What if he says no? What will I do?

"You were…?" he presses.

"I was sort of hoping you'd come with me. Actually, I need you to come," I say, rather breathlessly.

"Why do you need me?" he asks. For the first time he doesn't looks angry, but perplexed.

"Well, I…" I start, but stop. How exactly do you tell someone how much you depend on them for everything? How much you love them for everything they've done for you? How much your children love them? How much you appreciate everything they've done for you? How much you mean to them? How much you believe they deserve to have their questions answered along with your own? How do you tell someone how much you owe them for getting you through the hardest twelve years of your life?

You don't. They already know.

He smiles, and the anger seems to be completely gone. "Of course I'll come with you, Julie."

I sigh with relief. "Thanks, Fulton."

"Sure, just call me when you know when you're going, alright?"

"Tomorrow, until 4:00, because Jack and Chase have a game."

"First game of the season, is it?"

"Yes, do you want to come?"

"I'd love to."

I have hardly noticed, but we've left the kitchen and moved to the front door. I hand Fulton his coat.

"I'll call you when you need to come by so we can go," I tell him.

"Sure. If you call before 6:00, call my office, ok?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Well, I'm off to my office and my lovely boss. I hope he choked on his lunch. Bye Julie," Fulton smiles, opening the door.

I grin. "Bye Fulton. Talk to you later."

I clean up the kitchen, and flop down on to the couch. I'm already drained, and I still have to mentally prepare myself for Portman's phone call tonight. We'll see him tomorrow, until four, because Jack and Chase have a game. I hope Portman doesn't want to meet before two. Any more than two hours with him might result in his death, because anymore than that, and I might kill him. Or Fulton might kill him. Whichever, it still results in his death.

Fulton's coming with me tomorrow. I'm saved. Well, not saved. I'd still rather not go, but it's much easier to go with my best friend than to go by myself.


	4. Chapter 4

I would like to thank everyone for the kind reviews. I haven't really been keeping up with thanking people for that, time's short lately. But I do appreciate it, I really do. Enjoy chapter four!

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**Chapter 4**

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After I cleaned up the kitchen, I pretty much collapsed onto the couch. The boys got home not long after, arguing about a fight in the school yard earlier. Apparently a game of friendly touch football got a little out of hand.

"He deserved that swing!" says Jack.

"It was a clean hit!" argues Chase.

"You two weren't fighting again, were you?" I ask from the couch, making them both jump.

"No, Mom," Jack heaves, looking shocked.

"No fresh bruises, see?" Chase says, sticking his neck out. He's right, there're no bruises on his face except for the one he received yesterday.

"Those are my good boys," I grin, getting up and giving them both a hug. They took something to eat, and immediately began talking about the fight again.

The boys were still arguing about it when they left for practice an hour later. It must have been quite the game.

When they left I began mentally preparing myself for the phone call I'd be receiving later tonight. I'm really not sure I'm ready for this.

I know Fulton's coming with me tomorrow, and while that makes the whole situation a thousand times easier, I'm still nervous.

I'm confused too, about my nervousness. Why am I nervous about seeing this man? A man I once loved? Really, it's Portman. I _married_ that bastard, had children with him…granted not in that exact order, but that's more or less what happened. Why should I be nervous?

Well, I know why. What if he's been tremendously successful while he's been gone? What if he's wealthy, with a terrific job, and a beautiful girl? What if he sees me, Julie Gaffney, with just my six room apartment, my old demons, and my two boys, and laughs at me? Or worse, what if he sees my two boys, _his_ two boys, and decides he wants to take them from me? What if he gets them?

But I'm getting ahead of myself, really. My anger that he just left us…the pain that he caused me, the pain he caused my children. I can deal with my own emotional hurt, but don't hurt my children. My instincts go into defense mode, and I'll do close to anything to defend them both from harm, and do just about anything to make them better.

When Jack was six, he fell from the monkey bars and snapped his wrist. He came to me crying, "Mommy, Mommy, it hurts, make it stop, Mommy, please."

Let me tell you, my car couldn't fly to that hospital fast enough. The hospital is twenty minutes from here, I got there in seven. I swear it; I must have been doing 95 miles per hour. I felt so guilty watching Jack squirm around in the back seat, crying and in pain. I'd have given anything for my wrist to be broken like his was, to be feeling his pain, and for my son to be fine. I'd rather be in agony myself than see my little boy suffering…and the same goes for Chase.

So my own emotions, whatever they are, come second. I'll deal with my own feelings in my own time, but don't hurt my children. Portman did that…and didn't seem to give a damn about it either. I can't deal with that.

Maybe that's really my problem. It's one thing if he treated me like badly, another if he treated my children that way. I'll be quiet about what he did to me, but he can't treat my children like that and not hear from me.

Unfortunately, his hearing it would have to require me saying it. My saying it would mean a confrontation. Have I mentioned before how I really don't want to do this? Yes, I think I have.

Every so often, when I get nervous, I compulsively clean. My mother used to do it as well. I never thought I'd turn into my mother, but in a lot of ways I have. So right now, I'm going to vacuum, because I don't know what else to do with myself. The noise of the vacuum is a good distraction. It must be kind of fun, being a piece of dust, sucked in the tube, then spun around in the container over and over again…sort of like an endless amusement park ride.

I like amusement park rides. When I was a kid, I used to love going on the roller coasters and rides. The ones where you went up and down at break-neck speed and the ones that spun you round. One year, I brought Connie to spend the summer with me and my grandparents in New Jersey. They moved to New Jersey from Maine, because I think it's a law that once you reach a certain age you have to move to New Jersey or Florida. Anyway, we went to Six Flags Great Adventure. It was one of those perfect summer days where it was warm but not humid, and Connie and I rode all the rides laughing and yelling. That was one of the best summers I ever had, and that was probably one of the best days.

I shut the vacuum off and admire my handy work. The carpets in the apartment are definitely less dusty. I move onto dusting, polishing, and scrubbing. A few hours later, my apartment considerably cleaner, I check my watch.

5:30. Jack and Chase are due back soon. I sit down on the couch, tired, but feeling better. I never thought cleaning would be a way for me to relieve stress. I've gotten soft in my old age. I wonder, what should I make for dinner? Nevermind. Pizza sounds good tonight.

I call up the local place and order a pie, half pepperoni and half mushroom, and leave fifteen minutes later to pick it up. When I get back, Jack and Chase are finally home, sitting at the table, doing some type of homework or another.

"Hey guys, pizza tonight," I say putting the box on the counter and pulling plates out of the cabinet.

"Sounds good," Jack says, shutting his books and tossing them on the floor.

"Has he called yet?" Chase asks, taking a slice of pepperoni pizza and putting it on his plate.

"No, he hasn't," I answer quietly, putting a slice of mushroom on my own plate and settling down at the table.

Jack, also eating mushrooms, elbows Chase, and gets up to go to the refrigerator for something to drink before Chase can retaliate.

"Alright, alright," Chase mutters.

"What's going on?" I ask my sons. There's obviously something they're not telling me.

"Nothing, Mom," Chase says, and busies himself with his pizza again. He always picks the pepperonis off and eats them first. It's sort of a compulsive habit of his. He always does it. Today, though, it's just an excuse to not answer my questions.

"Jack?" I press.

"What, Mom?"

"What aren't you two telling me?"  
"Nothing, Mom."

"Jack…"

"All right, all right. Listen, we-" he indicates himself and Chase "-were talking before you got home. We know how hard this whole thing is on you, and if you don't want to go, we don't have to do it."

"Nonsense. Of course we'll go."

"But Mom, it's hurting you-" Jack begins.

"What do you mean? No, it's not," I defend myself.

"Bull. Yes it is," Chase insists, finally looking up from his pizza. "Mom, you only vacuum, dust, polish, and scrub this much when you're hurting, and this place is spotless. Hell, I could eat off the floor."

"I'm not hurting. This place just needed to be cleaned," I lie. Well, I'm not exactly lying. I'm not hurting, I don't think. I'm just nervous.

"Are you sure?" Jack asks through a mouthful of mushroom, tomato sauce, and cheese.

"Yes, and don't talk with your mouth full."

"Mom, if you don't want to go-" Jack starts with an empty mouth, but I cut him off again.

"Jack, Chase, we're going tomorrow. I've worked it all out. I even convinced Fulton to come."

"Uncle Fulton's coming?" Chase says, eyes lighting up.

Yes, my boys call him 'Uncle' Fulton. Technically, he's not my brother or Portman's, but they've known him since they were kids. The only reason I didn't let them call him 'Dad' is because at the time I wouldn't accept the fact Portman was gone, and kept hoping he'd be back soon. He didn't come back, and by the time I got over that, it was Uncle Fulton. Besides, Portman and Fulton were, at one point, Bash Brothers. It's not blood, but it's close, right?

"Yes, Uncle Fulton's coming," I smile, and Jack and Chase both look overjoyed. They adore that man. I wonder if he knows that.

"How'd you talk him into it?" Jack asks, speaking with his mouth full again.

"Jack, swallow before you talk," I scold. "I got him to come by asking over a nice lunch."

"Cool," Chase grins, taking a swig of his iced tea.

The boys eat seconds, and then thirds. My nerves returning, I force down my first slice, then wrap the left over slice for some other day, putting it in the freezer. Jack and Chase finish their homework, and rotate in and out of the shower. The phone rings when they're finished, at around 8:30.

I let it ring twice more, and then pick it up. No need for him to know I'm sitting right by the phone, waiting for his call, like the desperate teenager I was fifteen years ago.

"Julie Gaffney speaking," I say coolly.

"Hey, Julie."

"Hi, Portman."

"Have you made up your mind?" he asks, sounding hopeful.

"Yes, we've made up our minds," I say, emphasizing 'we'. I hope he remembers he has two sons who also needed to consider the matter. There's a long pause. I hope he's feeling uncomfortable, because in spite of my earlier nerves, I'm actually enjoying the thought of him sweating.

"Uh…Julie?" he says.

"Yes?" I say sweetly.

"What did you three decide?"

"Oh right. We'll we've thought about it, and we decided we'd come."

"Oh good," he says breathlessly, as if he'd been holding his breath. "What time?"

"Before 4:00," I say. "Jack and Chase have a game around that time."

"A game?"

"Yes. A game."

"What type of game?" he tries to ask casually. Keyword: tries. I can tell he's excited. He's hoping it's hockey. I don't say anything with for a moment, to make it seem like I'm not hanging on his every word. After a moment, he says, "Julie?"

"Oh sorry," I say sweetly again. "What did you say?"

"What type of game?"

"Oh…hockey."

"Really?"

"Yes," I answer. I guess he's really excited he'll have something to talk to his sons about.

"What positions do they play?" he sounds really thrilled now.

"Portman, why don't you wait until tomorrow, until about 1:30, and ask them yourself."

"Oh, right."

"So 1:30 then?" I ask, wishing now to get off the phone and watch some television.

"Yes, 1:30 is fine."

"Oh, and Portman?"

"Yeah, Julie?"

"Remember when you said I could bring someone?" I ask.

"Yes."

"I'm bringing Fulton."

I hear a distinct gagging noise on the other end of the line, and have trouble controlling my giggling. "Fulton?" he says, his voice strained now.

"Yes, Fulton."

"Fulton Reed?"

"Yes, Fulton Reed."

"Oh…well, I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asks, regaining his composure.

"See you then," I say, and sensing his panic, I feel myself grin.

"I love you Julie," he says.

It's my turn to be startled. "What do you-" but the phone clicks before I can ask. "What do you mean 'I love you'?" I mumble into the phone, even though I know nobody's listening at the other end. "If you loved me, you wouldn't have left me miserable and alone with two little boys to raise."

The joy at Portman's panic I felt a few moments ago is replaced with pain again. I hate this. It's like in _The Lord of the Rings_ where every year after Weathertop, Frodo feels the pain from when he was stabbed. It's an old wound where I still feel pain, a scar I'll never lose.

I'm sitting staring at the TV when Jack and Chase wander in.

"Mom, did everything go okay?" Jack asks.

"Yeah, it went fine."

"Do you need anything?" Chase asks.

"No, I'm fine."

"All right. We're going to play videogames in our room. Goodnight, Mom," Chase says.

"Goodnight boys," I say, forcing a smile.

Jack doesn't look convinced, and Chase looks skeptical himself, but they both kiss my cheek- something they rarely do anymore- and head off to their room. I watch TV for a while, and turn in at 10:00. I set my alarm for 9:00 tomorrow morning. Normally I'd set it for 10:00 or 10:30, but I have a funny feeling that I'm going to be spending a lot of tomorrow morning picking out an outfit, trying things on, throwing clothes around, on and off…the same way I did when I was an insecure eighteen year old senior in high school.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everyone! Thanks for the kind reviews. The updates are few and far between, I know, but I've had terrible writer's block and both my beta and I have been busy. I will try to update more quickly, but no promises. Either way, enjoy this update. Happy reading!

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**Chapter 5 **

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I called Fulton before I went to sleep, to tell him what time we'd swing by his apartment to pick him up. It was around that time that Portman and I hadn't actually arranged a place to meet.

I wondered if Portman would remember this and call again, so I ended up staying up for a while. He didn't call back, so I realized not specifying a meeting didn't matter.

Portman, being the person he is, figured that I would know where to go. He figured right. I know exactly where we're supposed to be meeting.

I took a fast shower, and tried to pick what I'd wear. My whole closet was like a trailer park after a tornado before I'd settled on a slimming black shirt and a pair of faded blue Gap jeans that I like because they make my butt look smaller. I pulled out my classic black boots with the three inch heels, put them on, and looked in the mirror.

"Not bad," I compliment myself and turn sideways. "Now, for the hair and makeup."

I curl my slightly longer than shoulder length dirty blond hair with the curling iron to give it a little bounce. It's usually straight and limp. I apply a little foundation make up to my face, and put on a little mascara and eye liner. I put on a light lipstick and a little bit of rouge and stand back to admire my handy-work.

I look a lot like I did when I was twenty-two. I look a lot like I did before he left me. I still have a figure, which is nice, since I can only get to the gym three or four days a week. I actually like to exercise. I stay fit, it's a good way to relieve stress, and every so often I see a girl there who reminds me of Connie when we were teenagers. I miss Connie. It's sort of amusing. That's why Julie Gaffney goes to the gym; to keep a figure of some type and reminisce.

"After taking care of two boys for so long, I can still pull myself together if I really want," I say to no one in particular. "What a pleasant surprise."

It's not so much that I want Portman to be impressed with me. It's partly that I'm afraid he still looks the same while I've gotten older. It's mostly because it's easier to be confident when you know you look nice.

I'm suddenly reminded of another time I was trying to look nice and be confident…and failing miserably.

_It was one a cool, crisp, late autumn afternoon in Minnesota. The birds were singing for one of the last times before they migrated, the wind whispered in a soft voice through the trees, and the setting sun was casting a very golden light over the colorful foliage that is unique to autumn._

_It was a certain kind of day that gave a person a certain kind of feeling. A feeling that can only be described as one you wish never ended, because it was a feeling that you often longed for but couldn't make happen. It had to come on its own. When it finally did arrive, it warmed your heart, made you smile, and brought relaxation. No- it wasn't love. It was happiness. It was the kind of day and the kind of happiness that make the best kind of memories. It was the kind of day and feeling that's missed when it's gone._

_The Eden Hall dormitories in a suburb of Minneapolis held high school students from all over the country. The window of a particular female dorm was open, and inside were two girls, each with a slot on the Varsity hockey team of Eden Hall Academy. One was about 5'5 with beauty, waist length dark hair, a wonderful boyfriend, and confidence; my best friend, Connie Moreau. The other was less beautiful, about 5'7 with shorter shoulder length dirty blond hair, less confidence, and no boyfriend…but a rather hot date. That was me, Julie Gaffney._

_"Oh Julie, for crying out loud, it's just a date!" Connie exclaimed after I'd switched shirts for the fourteen hundredth time. _

_"I know, I know," I mumbled, trying to understand why I suddenly felt fat in every outfit I'd ever owned._

_I'd tried on ever pair of jeans I owned. I finally settled on a pair, and then switched shirts a thousand times. Every shirt I put on, no matter how I remembered looking good in it, appeared to make me fat, the mirror betraying my confidence._

_"Come on, Julie, relax, it's taken three, almost four years to figure out that you were perfect for him when the rest of us knew all along. You really ought to relax. He likes you. If he didn't, he wouldn't have asked you out," Connie grinned._

_"Yeah, I know, but I don't want to blow it, or mess anything up," I muttered, now trying to figure out what to do with my hair and makeup._

_"Mess anything up? It's Portman for God's sake, Julie, do you realize how much he's messed up lots of stuff in the time we've known him alone? I'm afraid to think of how he screwed up before we ever met him! Hell, Fulton keeps him in line and he still screws everything up!" Connie smiled._

_I tried my best to smile back, but felt a lot more like throwing up. I don't know why I was so nervous. I was never nervous before, ever, on any date. Then one day, out of the blue, Portman finally asked me out. People had been telling us we'd be perfect for each other since…just after the Junior Goodwill Games. I had decided the day would never come, and life went on until he finally asked me. All of a sudden the thought of "hanging out" with Portman, as he put it, was horrifying._

_"It's easy for you to say, Connie. You've been with Guy for years. It's easy for you to get along and say relax, but some of us aren't so lucky," I said finally, and then the curling iron got caught in my hair._

_Connie put down her magazine, got up off her bed, smiled at my struggling with the curling iron, and took it out of my hands. She untangled it, brushed the section of hair out, and styled it for me. She then did the rest of my head. It wasn't curled, just given a little extra bounce._

_"Thanks," I said to her._

_"No problem," she smiled that smile that made Guy go weak in the knees and sat back down on her bed with her magazine._

_I moved on to my makeup. But I couldn't get that right either, so Connie put down her magazine a second time and helped me with that too._

_"Julie, relax, you'll be fine…and look up if you want this eyeliner on."_

_I obliged and said, "I know, I know, it's just Portman, but…this is so weird. What if it messes up our team?"_

_"It's not going to," she said, finishing my eyeliner and examining my choice of lipsticks, lip glosses, lip gunk, lip paint, and whatever other lip dressing I had on my dresser at the time. Picking out a light pink one, she said, "Nobody's breaking up the Ducks. Not yet, anyway. We have a whole senior year to go, and another state championship to win. God forbid we let down the Dean and the dear old school board. But I guess the good thing is," she paused momentarily to step back and look at my face, and then continued, "if we do lose the state championship, they can't throw us out. We're seniors. We finish out the year on our scholarships and then we're done."_

_"True," I smiled. "But that's not what I meant."_

_"What did you mean, then?" Connie asked, picking a blush and applying it to my cheeks._

_"I meant what if it breaks our friendships and stuff? I don't want to be the reason the Ducks stop talking to each other," I said._

_"I wouldn't worry. The Ducks never shut up. I don't think you and Portman could get it done if you tried. Don't worry Julie, we're seniors, then we're done…and speaking of done, so are you," she said, holding up a mirror._

_I looked at my face. I looked good, I knew it, I was just so nervous at that point it didn't matter. I spent the next fifteen minutes waiting for Portman to pick me up… it felt like hours, and all the while I kept trying to reassure myself that I was well worth his time._

"Mom! We're going to be late!" Jack yelled through the apartment, snapping me back to reality.

Grabbing my black handbag and light burgundy jacket that I wear in Minnesota Septembers before it gets too cold, I walk out of the room to find out what my sons have been doing.

"Sorry, I was daydreaming," I apologize to my sons, realizing they're both carrying their heavy hockey bags with all their gear, "come on, let's go pick up your Uncle Fulton."

"Wow, Mom," Chase says, looking at me and ignoring what I'd just said.

"Wow what?"

"You're made up all-"

"-different," Jack cut Chase off mid-sentence.

"Different how?" I ask my sons.

"Different like…more than usual," Chase answers.

"I see. This is how I do my makeup when I go out. Way back before I had you two, when I had a life," I smile at them.

"You had a life? No way!" Chase feigns astonishment, and then both he and Jack crack up laughing.

"Yes, I had a life once. Then I gave up that life for this one…this makeup isn't too over the top, is it?" I ask them.

They step back and look me up and down. "It's pretty," Jack says finally. "You look good, Mom."

"Who are you trying to impress?" Chase jokes.

"Nobody," I smile back, as we leave the apartment, I lock the door, and we start down the hallway towards the elevator.

"You're not trying to impress…oh fucker, what should we call him?" Jack says, with a perplexed look. Chase's eyes widen for the first time when he realizes that they don't know what name they should be calling Portman.

"Watch your language," I say sharply. "And just call him Dad."

Jack and Chase seem to accept this, and then, Jack goes back to his original question. "You're not trying to impress him, Mom, are you?"

"No, I'm not," I answer flatly.

"You know, you did just fine without him. So if you don't want to go-" Jack starts again, but I stop him.

"Jack, we're going. I'll be fine. And I know I did just fine without him. Now stop trying to talk me out of this. Don't _you_ want to go?" I ask my son.

"Yeah, I want to go, and Chase does too, but we're worried about you, Mom," Jack sighs, "but you deserve better than what happened to you. You're my favorite mom in the whole world."

"How many moms do you have?" I tease. "Don't worry, I'm fine with this." I realized as I said it that I felt like I was going to hurl all over the place—just like I felt on that first date.

"Well, if you want to back out, we'd understand," Chase adds, smiling.

"I don't want to back out, but I'm beginning to think the two of you do," I say, as we step out of the building's elevator into the garage where the tenet's cars have assigned spots.

"No, we don't Mom, we just don't want you to be upset," Chase explains.

"I won't be upset, let's just go get Fulton and get this over with, ok?" I say as we reach spot thirty-seven, and the black Jeep Cherokee I bought last year. The boys dump their hockey bags in the trunk as I get in the driver's seat. I'm now very appreciative of the fact I have this car and not the old junkie blue Honda I had a year and a half ago. I don't want to appear broke, even though we were for a while.

All my money was spent on the kids. Their clothes, hockey gear, food, and whatever else they needed, that's where my money went. So a nice, new car was put on hold until I had saved up enough money through a few years.

Fulton's place is only a few minutes from ours so it didn't take very long to get there. He was waiting outside when we pulled up. Jack got out of the front seat and joined Chase in the back and Fulton hopped in the passenger side.

"Hey Uncle Fulton," comes a chorus from the backseat.

"Hi guys, how are you both doing?" Fulton looks in the back and smiles. I glance in the back from the rear view mirror. Both Jack and Chase are smiling.

"We're good," Chase says.

"Yeah. Are you coming to the game later?" Jack asks.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, then turned back to me, "hi, Julie."

"Hi, Fulton," I smile.

"How are you holding up?" he asks me.

"I'm fine," I say with finality. I'm sort of tired of the three of them asking me that. I'll be fine. I will. _Really._

"So where are we going?" Fulton asks me.

"Yeah, Ma, where _are_ we going? You haven't told us yet," Chase says.

"Well, we never actually arranged a place to be," I say, "I just sort of know where to be."

I glance back in the mirror, and the boys look alarmed at this utter lack of planning, but Fulton grins, "I know where we're going."

There's a few seconds of silence before Chase can't control himself anymore. "Well, could someone fill _us_ in!? Please!?"

"Relax," Fulton says, leaning back against his sea, "you're mother knows what she's doing."

"Yeah, guys, I know what I'm doing," I echo, passing a very square Buick on the left.

Twenty minutes later I pulled into the parking lot of an old ball field, now covered with weeds. It's obviously not used anymore, but it was when I was in high school here.

I don't know what made me decide to stay in Minnesota. I think it was Connie. "It'll be fun here! You and me will get together all the time!" she'd said when she found out Portman and I were having twins and getting married.

"Yeah, fun," I'd said, then run off to throw up. Morning sickness was _not_ fun.

So I stayed in Minnesota. I have stayed in Minnesota. Connie stayed too, and we got together all the time…at least for a while. Then she married Guy not long I married Portman. Then Guy was drafted into the NHL after college. Then she had a baby. Then Connie, Guy, and their baby moved away to New York to be closer to Guy's team, the New York Islanders.

The letters and e-mails and phone calls were frequent, then less frequent. Now, I talk to Connie once or twice a year. We still send each other Christmas cards, but it's been about seven years since we actually saw each other.

Jack and Chase get out of the car rather quickly and slam the doors. I set the parking break, take off my seatbelt, lean back against the headrest of my seat, and close my eyes.

"Are you alright?" Fulton asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, feeling rather nauseous.

"Let's go, then," he says, opening the door. I try to move, but can't. If I move, I might throw up. "Come on, Julie, we have to get out of the car," Fulton presses.

"I…I can't," I whisper, still unable to move and paralyzed with nervous fear.

"What?" he asks.

I look at him and repeat, "I can't."

"Julie," Fulton says, narrowing his eyebrows, "I can't hear you. You'll have to speak up."

"I can't get out of the car," I say in a very shaky voice.

"Why not?

"I'm…I…I'm afraid," I say breathlessly, "I'm…what if he takes them…what if he's brought a woman…what if I'm just not good enough…" I babble mindlessly.

"Oh, Julie. Julie, Julie, Julie," Fulton shook his head. "If he brings a girl, you can pretend I'm your guy. You're good enough, you look great. And if he tries to take them-" he gestures and Jack and Chase who are wandering curiously around the parking lot, "-he won't get them without a fight. It's 1:25, Julie; let's get out of the car."

"I can't…" I murmur.

"Yes, Julie, you can. You set this up, you brought me, and you promised your boys. If you can't get out of the car for you, get out of the car for them."

I don't know what it is about Fulton, but he's always been very persuasive. Taking a deep breath, I agree. "Fine."

"Now, let's go. He isn't here yet, we can all look around, and find a place to sit or something," Fulton says, finally stepping out of his open car door. "Don't worry, Julie, you'll be fine."

I take another deep breath and step out of the car. Fulton walks around and gives me a big hug. "Don't worry, Julie, you'll be fine," he repeats. "Now, let's go find those boys of yours."

Fulton and I wander over to where Jack and Chase were sitting on the old bleachers, talking quietly. They look up as we come over, and smile and wave.

I sit and join them, and Fulton takes a seat next to me.

"So what do you guys think?" Fulton asks. "Excited, or anxious, or what?"

"This is so messed up. You shouldn't be meeting your father at fourteen unless your mom was abused or you were adopted and he just found you," Jack says quickly.

Whatever Fulton was expecting, it wasn't that. He shut up and looked surprised.

"I think what Jack means," Chase says, looking pointedly at Jack, "is that we're a bit confused. Why now? What's so suddenly fascinating about us now? He hasn't shown his face in twelve years. What's so special about us lately?"

"Maybe he misses you," I say quietly.

"He never really knew us," Jack says.

"He knew you, guys though, you Uncle Fulton, and you too, Ma," Chase says.

"Well, obviously he knew Mom," Jack rolls his eyes, and then his eyes widened. Chase's eyes widened too. Both my sons put two and two together at exactly the same time. "Hey, Ma," Jack says, "maybe he misses _you_."

"I doubt it," I say quietly, not wanting to think about it.

"Well I think we're about to find out," Fulton says, nodding towards a black Honda that pulls into the lot across from my car.

I watch the car stop, and check my watch. 1:35. My boys look up, eyes narrowed, and watch the figure moving in the car.

The car turns off, and a dark haired man of about 6'3 steps out. Broad shouldered and muscular, the same way I remember him, with a leather jacket, white t-shirt, and baggy blue jeans. I feel my breath catch in my chest as I set my eyes on Dean Portman for the first time in twelve years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

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**

I watch tensely as he begins to stroll over to us. Confident and tall, I can hear each long, even stride as the typical, shiny black boots hit the ground with a dull thud. Any panic he was feeling last night over the phone isn't showing now.

Jack and Chase are watching intently, taking in their father for the first time in years. With a deep breath, Jack stands up, jumps down off the bleachers, and stands on the grass. Chase follows, standing next to his brother.

I remain seated next to Fulton, holding his arm very tightly. For the first time, I notice that Fulton appears rather tense. He realizes that I sense this, and in an effort to be strong, he gives me a smile, and squeezes my hand with his hand- the hand on the arm that I don't have in a death grip.

When Portman gets over to us, nobody speaks for a few moments. Everyone except for me is looking at the ground. Wow, this is awkward.

I guess I'd better get this rolling then, huh?

"Hello Portman," I say in calm, relaxed voice that doesn't suit the situation.

"Hello Julie," Portman says in a strained voice that isn't his own. "Hey, Fulton."

"Hey Portman," Fulton says, nodding.

Silence reigns again.

"Um, this is Jack," I say, standing up and pushing our slightly older son forward. "And this is Chase," I add, now pushing our other son forward.

"I know," Portman says, looking at them and smiling. "Hey guys."

"Hello..." Jack trails off, before intently noticing his sneakers.

"Yeah," Chase adds quickly, "Hi."

"What's up, you two?" Portman says.

Rather than answer the question, Chase says, "What do we call you?"

"What?" Portman asks, as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"What do we call you?" Chase repeats more loudly.

Portman looks bewildered, much to my delight. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"What do we _call_ you?" Jack finally loses his patience before Chase can answer. "Mr. Portman, Dean, Dad, or what?"

"Oh," Portman says, and appears to be thinking. "Dad is fine."

Chase stares blankly at him, and Jack looks like he can't believe it.

Portman looks back at them for a moment or two before turning his attention to me, "How have you been, Julie?"

"I've been fine, what about you?"

He looks at me very intently before answering. "I've been okay," he says, finally. "What about you, Fult? How are ya?"

"Living, dude, living. What brings you back to Minnesota?"

Portman doesn't answer. Instead, he looks back to the boys. "I hear you two play hockey."

"Yeah, we play," Chase says, eyes lighting up. "Since we were seven. We've been watching hockey since we were about three, though."

"Really? What positions?" Portman asks enthusiastically, and the three of them -Portman, Jack, and Chase- seem truly at ease for the first time.

"I'm a defenseman," Chase says. "Usually on the right side."

"Nice," Portman smiles. "What do you play, Jack?"

"I'm a forward, left wing or center," Jack answers.

"I played wing, too," Portman smiles. "It was fun. They wanted me on the forecheck, but I played defense from time to time, mainly when somebody else was out."

"Is he lying, Mom?" Chase spins around and asks me.

"No, he's not lying," I smile at Chase. Portman was a good hockey player. A very good one, and he did play as a forward.

"Didn't you used to play hockey, Mom?" Jack inquires.

"Yes," I smile. I can almost feel my shoulder pads and the goalie mask around my head.

"What position did you play, Mom?" Jack asks.

"I was a goaltender…you know that," I smile again.

"Yeah, but you don't talk about it a lot, so we forget," Chase answers.

"Uncle Fulton used to play too," I say, grinning at Fulton.

"_Uncle_ Fulton?" Portman says, but both Fulton and I go on as if he hadn't said anything.

Fulton smirks. "Yeah, I played. I beat people up."

"You had that killer shot," Portman says, "Remember? First time I saw it, I was just so amazed. I'd never seen anything like it. I thought all those kids were wussies for diving out of the way, and then you nearly killed me with that shot."

"You showed us that shot, Uncle Fulton, it was really scary!" Chase says, eyes wide and bouncing back and forth his feet. He looks like a kid in a candy store. "What position did you play?"

"I was a defenseman, Chase, like you. Though, I usually played on the left side."

"What's your favorite hockey team?" Jack turns to look at Portman.

"I'm a bit partial to the Anaheim Mighty Ducks…and I like the Chicago Blackhawks, because I'm from Chicago, but I think I truly like the Ducks. I admire some of the other teams, too," Portman says. "What about you two?"

"Ducks? You're such a loser," Chase says, "I like the Oilers, and the Tampa Bay Lightning. They started winning when we were three and haven't stopped since!"

"Bandwagon fan," Portman smiles. "What about you, Jack?"

"I like the New York Islanders. There's this player, Guy Germaine, he's really good. He's just such a complete player." Jack says. Fulton, Portman, and I all look at each other. "What? Should I not like the Islanders?"

"We used to know Guy Germaine," Fulton explained. "I grew up with him, and your parents met him a little later on. His wife, Connie, grew up with us too. We played hockey with him."

"Really?" Jack says, and both his and Chase's eyes are wide now. "Next time you see him, could you tell him how great I think he is?"

"Yeah sure," Fulton smiles, "When we see him."

"You've met him before," I say smiling, "Seven or eight years ago. He and Connie came with their baby to visit us."

"Cool," says Chase. For a moment, everyone is quiet, and then Chase turns back to Portman. "Hey, we-" he indicates to himself and Jack, "-have a game today. Are you going to come?"

Portman looks hesitant, but hides it quickly. "Sure I'll come…if your mom says it's all right."

Portman looks at me. Fulton looks at me. Jack and Chase turn to look at me. The pressure's on.

"Sure, it's all right," I say a bit hesitantly. Wonderful. More time with Portman. I'm barely hanging on as it is. This is torture for me.

"Well then, I'm coming," smiles Portman. "What time is the game?"

"It's at 4:00," says Jack. "What time is it now?"

Fulton checks his watch and answers. "It's 2:05."

"Mom, I'm hungry," Chase says to me.

"Me too," says Jack.

I'm realizing that I haven't eaten today either, and that my stomach is digesting itself as we speak. I think for a minute, and turn to Fulton. "Well," I say, "we could head over to Goldberg's Deli and get sandwiches or something."

Goldberg's Deli is still run by Greg Goldberg's parents. Greg, more commonly referred to as Goldberg or Goldie, used to play hockey with us, and was a good friend of mine for quite some time. Goldie doesn't live in Minnesota anymore. He moved out to California with Russ Tyler and Kenny Wu, two other former Ducks and good friends. I hear they've opened a center for underprivileged kids. Sort of a youth center for troubled kids to go to, with counseling and a gym, with a place for meals and to spend the night. Last I heard, they were not only getting money from the state, but they were taking turns running the place and working a second job to earn money. Guy Germaine, Adam Banks, and Luis Mendoza, all former Ducks and old friends, now professional hockey players, are all mentioned as charitable donors of cash and supplies.

"Hey, yeah! They have the best sandwiches at Goldberg's Deli!" Chase says excitedly to Portman.

Portman laughs, "I know, I've eaten there, kid."

"Well, let's get a move on, then, I'm hungry," Fulton says brightly, turning and heading back for the car.

"Are you riding with us?" Chase asks.

Portman glances at me. "Actually, I think I'll follow in my own car. It'll be pretty cramped with the three of us in the back seat. I'll see you guys in a few minutes."

Jack and Chase watched Portman stroll back to his car, then turned to face me. They smiled, and then reality seemed to hit them. They headed for our own car, talking in quiet voices, leaving me standing there. I let out a deep breath and start walking back towards the car myself.

I back out of my parking spot, and start for Goldberg's Deli. I can tell the boys were talking with Fulton before I got in the car, but stopped when I joined them. The boys continue mumbling quietly to themselves in the back seat, and I pull out on the main road.

I keep waiting for Fulton to say something, but he doesn't, so I roll down the window and end up letting my mind wander.

It doesn't take much concentration for me to get around Minneapolis anymore. The car pretty much drives itself. It wasn't always like that though. I used to get lost. I remember the first time I got truly lost in Minnesota.

Portman was taking me to a rock concert in a park by a lake. If I hadn't been so busy being nervous, I would have realized that "in a park by a lake" could have meant anywhere. Minnesota has some obscene number of parks and lakes. But I was nervous. It was our first date. I didn't realize this park could have been anywhere.

We got lost. Horrendously lost.

_"I've never even heard of Hennepin, Minnesota!" Portman roared, slamming on the breaks as we passed a "Welcome to Hennepin" sign on an all but deserted road._

_"Where were we supposed to be going?" I asked quietly. _

_"I don't know anymore. Some park just outside Minneapolis."_

_"We've been driving for hours. Do you think we could pull over and ask somebody for directions back home?" I asked, tired of riding in the car. It was getting late, towards curfew time, and I really wanted to get home. My nerves had left me after hour number one of being lost. We were well into hour number four, about twenty minutes from hour number five. We'd spent the evening driving in the car. I was hungry, and tired, and starting to be sorry I went._

_"Julie, look around. Do you see anyone I can ask? Do you see anywhere I can pull over? Do you see anything at all?"_

_I looked around. "Not really," I admitted._

_"So if I see anyone, I'll pull over," he snapped._

_"Fine," I snapped back. Bastard. Get us lost and get snappy with me like it's my fault? I don't think so._

_Portman turned the car around and we drove along in silence for a while. I watched the stars. I don't know what Portman was doing. Hopefully, he was watching the road._

_"Hey Julie?" he said after about half hour of silence._

_"What?"_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"For what?"__ I figured he was talking about snapping at me earlier._

_But apparently not.__ He didn't speak right away. "This whole lousy night."_

_"What are you talking about? This night wasn't so lousy," I said. _

_"Yeah it was. I promised we'd go out to a concert in the park. I planned to take you out for pizza or something. But instead, I got us lost. You haven't had anything to eat. I'm hungry. I was an asshole for snapping at you. I just…this was not the way I wanted our first date to go," he finished. He said all this very quickly, then immediately drew a deep breath._

_"Hey, it's not a big deal. I haven't been miserable. I like being with you. So what, our first date wasn't perfect. At least it wasn't horrible and awkward like first dates are on television."_

_"Yeah, but still, you deserved better tonight."_

_"Yeah, I probably did," I said seriously. Portman took his eyes off the road for a moment and just looked at me, completely taken by surprise at my answer. I bet he was expecting for me to say it was all right. He tried to mask his surprise and looked back to the road. I let him sweat for a minute. "Got ya," I finally murmured._

_"What?"_

_"Got ya."_

_"Got me?"_

_"Yeah, I got you."_

_"Got me how?"_

_"You expected me to say I didn't deserve better."_

___"Well, yeah, but it's still true that you did."_

___"In all the time you've known me, have I ever acted stuck up like that?"_

___"Umm…no.__ But most girls get pissy like that."_

___"I'm not most girls."_

___"I know that. You're much prettier and less stuck up than most girls. Especially at Eden Hell Academy."_

___"Eden Hell: rich bitches whining about Gucci bags…there's a sign for Minneapolis. Take that exit."_

___"I see it…Yep, that's Eden Hell. I hate the girls there."_

___"But not me, right?"_

___"No, of course not you.__ I wouldn't have asked you out if I hated your guts."_

___"I know…so are you asking me out again, or what?"_

___"You actually want to go out with me again?" he asked, surprised._

___"Why wouldn't I?"_

___"God, Julie, didn't you learn anything in Mrs. Mangle's tenth grade English class? Don't answer a question with a question," he said, referring to our nutty tenth grade English teacher. If you answered a question with a question, she'd flip out and go into this speech about how only idiots answer questions with questions._

___"Oh, shut-up," I grinned, "or I won't want to go out with you again."_

___"Do you really want to go out with me again? I mean, after tonight and everything…" he still sounded disbelieving._

___"Yeah," I answered. "I really do."_

___I glanced at him. His eyes were still on the road, but now he was smiling._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

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**

After trailing Portman, who was doing at least seventy-five miles an hour down MacArthur Boulevard, we had pulled up to the deli and I had barely pulled into a spot before the boys jumped out of the car. Thankfully, Fulton was slower, and I had time to grab the sleeve of his leather jacket as he was opening the door. This is still a big no-no though. Tugging, yanking, or disrespecting the leather jacket in any way is a cardinal sin. I got a very dirty look for my lapse in judgment.

"Sorry," I apologize. "I just wanted to ask you how I was doing."

"You're lucky you're my best friend. I would have had to hit you otherwise…what do you mean 'how am I doing?'" he asks.

"Well, I mean, am I playing it cool, do I not sound like I'm a wreck on the inside, things of that nature," I explain.

He laughs, "You're doing fine, Julie. To the casual observer, you do not look like you want to kill him at all."

"I don't want to kill him," I say, and Fulton looks shocked.

"What?"

"I want to slowly roast him over an open fire," I grin, and Fulton laughs so hard he nearly falls out of the car.

"You're so bitter, Julie," he says, still laughing, "I think I like you like this. Come on, let's get in there. We both know how Portman and your sons eat. There will be nothing left."

I nod and follow Fulton out of the car and into Goldberg's Deli. The boys and Portman are already eating, and Goldberg's mother, who is behind the counter, meets Fulton and me with a warm smile. "Hi Fulton, hi Julie," she smiled. "What's your pleasure?"

"Corned beef on rye with mustard, please," Fulton says easily.

"Turkey, lettuce, and tomato on roll," I say.

While we wait for the sandwiches, I watch Mrs. Goldberg on the meat-slicer and Fulton strolls over to the refrigerators with the drinks in them. "Pick your poison, Julie."

"Dr. Pepper," Portman says from his seat before I had a chance to answer.

I look at him. "How did you know that?"

"You always got Dr. Pepper when you got a turkey, lettuce, and tomato when we used to come here," Portman shrugs and turns back to his food.

Fulton looked quite nervous, like this was going to end badly, but he hadn't said anything until that point. "So, uh, Julie," he says uncomfortably, "Dr. Pepper?"

I was tempted to say no, to show Portman I wasn't the same person I was when he left me, to show him he didn't know me as well as he thought, to prove to myself that I wasn't going to say that in the first place and the fact that Portman had known what I wanted to drink was a lucky coincidence, and not years of casual observation finally coming full circle.

I finally decide that I'm getting way too worked up over a soda. "Yeah, Dr. Pepper, Fult, thanks."

Portman grins at me a little, and I stick out my tongue. I regret doing this for two reasons. The first is that it was a tad immature, the second, Portman looks a little hurt. Wait. Reason number two shouldn't bother me. Never mind.

Fulton pays for both our sandwiches, which is nice of him, considering I could have paid for my own, and Jack and Chase pull over chairs for us.

We start off with a conversation about deli-meat, move on to weather, then to cars, and then I start tuning out.

This type of small talk continues for some time, and while I continue eating, I also continue to tune it all out. I don't like the way this is so uncomfortable. I think half the problem is that everyone's avoiding the real juicy questions. You know, questions like, "So, Portman, where have you been for the last twelve or so years?"

I'm not bitter, really I'm not. Yeah, okay, a little.

"Mom," Jack says, bringing me back to reality, "It's 3:00, we're late."

"Oh right. Okay, let's go. Give me all your garbage, I'll throw it away," I say and I collect the paper plates and napkins and head to the front of the deli, where the garbage is while the rest of my party moves towards the door.

I tossed the garbage and had just turned around to head for the door when Mrs. Goldberg says, "Julie, did my eyes deceive me or was that Dean Portman?"

I smile a little and turn around. "Yeah, that's him."

"He doesn't come around much anymore, since you two got divorced," she says thoughtfully.

Divorced? Portman and I had never actually gotten divorced. Not as far as I knew anyway. And if we had gotten divorced I would have known; I would have had to see a lawyer or sign papers or something. None of that ever happened. We were still married. We were just separated and hadn't spoken to each other in twelve years. Nothing dysfunctional about that relationship, right? No, of course not.

But I could easily understand why Mrs. Goldberg thought we were divorced. We weren't together, after all, and I have talked to her in the past about his lack of visits and his child support checks and the birthday cards. I shouldn't let her go on believing we're divorced, but it doesn't really matter at this point.

"No, he doesn't come around much," I smile at Mrs. Goldberg. "He's been very busy."

"He's got some nerve showing up after all this time," she says, nodding. "You show him what's what, Julie."

I giggle a little and say, "Yeah, he does have nerve. I always thought that was attractive." Mrs. Goldberg quirks her eyebrow, and I quickly add, "Don't worry though. If he thinks he's getting off easy, he's got another thing coming."

"That's the spirit, Julie," she grins and says, "Have a good day today."

"I will. Thanks for lunch Mrs. Goldberg. It's just what I needed to handle watching a hockey game and talking to Portman all at the same time," I smile.

"The boys are playing today?"

"Yeah, and we're late, so I better get going!" I say, checking my watch compulsively.

"Wish them good luck for me. Bye Julie!" she says.

"I will. Bye, Mrs. Goldberg," I nod and start outside.

When I get outside, I find Fulton and the kids already in the car and Portman sitting in his own car with the window open. "I'll follow you to the rink," he calls.

I nod and climb into my own car, where Jack and Chase are talking quietly in the back seat and Fulton is sitting with his eyes closed. I nudge him a little bit and grin. "What? Can't stand all this fun?"

He laughs a little bit and says, "Shut up and drive, Julie."

I back out and start back down MacArthur Boulevard, with Portman on my tail. Each time I glance out my mirror, he's maybe five feet behind me. Fulton notices this, and after I glance back for the hundredth time, says, "What's the matter?"

"He tailgates. My sons are never getting in the car with him. Ever," I say.

Fulton laughs and Jack and Chase begin to protest, but I pull into the parking lot of the building where the rink is. They just hop out of the car, grab their bags, and make a beeline for the door. Their coach always wants them there an hour before game time to warm up, and they're fifteen minutes late.

The boys rush off to the locker room, and Fulton, Portman, and I head for the ticket booth, where parents and onlookers are charged six dollars admission. When I was younger and had less money, I thought it seemed like the league was cheap, or that somebody was pocketing the extra cash. Later when I was on the finance committee, I found out that the money made is mostly used to make t-shirts for the teams, get extra rink time, and pay the referees; that kind of thing. I don't mind paying so much anymore.

We found seats in the bleachers. Portman sat on my left, Fulton on my right. I feel like Portman is uncomfortably close, and shift closer to Fulton.

We get through most of the game without talking; the only time Portman really speaks is when he asked me what numbers Jack and Chase were. "17 and 55," I tell him quietly. The rest of the time he seems focused on the game.

Jack scores a goal in second period and the boys' team is up 3-1 going into the locker room at the second intermission. The teams go into the locker rooms and Fulton excuses himself to go get some coffee. The crowd around us begins to stretch and move around, and Portman and I sit in awkward silence.

Portman has never been able to keep his mouth shut. Ever. So I know it's only a matter of time before he starts speaking. So I am hardly surprised when –

"They're pretty good, Julie."

"Jack and Chase? Yeah, they're pretty good."

"You've taught them well."

"Me? Fulton was the one who taught them everything."

"Fulton?"

"Yeah. He's been around since you left. He kept me from becoming an alcoholic, and he's been a good father figure for them," I say rather bitterly.

Portman doesn't say anything right away and almost looks hurt. This pleases me and pains me at the same time. I'm not really a spiteful person; I don't enjoy hurting another person's feelings. He just makes me so angry. Finally, he says, "I want to talk to you about that."

"So talk," I say. "Nobody's stopping you."

"I don't want to talk about it here, Julie."

"Why not?"

"Too many people, too much to talk about."

"Are you kidding me? You don't care what people think."

"No, I don't."

"So what's your problem?"

"I care what you think."

I roll my eyes. "Sure you do. What do you want, Portman?"

"Julie, please, don't be difficult," he says quietly.

"Don't be difficult? Don't be _difficult_!?" I say indignantly, my voice rising slightly. "You leave me with two little boys to go off gallivanting to who the hell knows where and you've got the balls to tell me not to be difficult?"

"I went back to Chicago," he says calmly. I think he expected this reaction from me. Could there be a different one? I doubt it. And he's never been stupid.

I shrug. "Fine. You went to Chicago. Didn't think to take me and your two sons with you, did you, though?"

"Julie, I have reservations at the Minnesota Club for tomorrow night. I figure you and I can talk one on one, quietly, over a meal," he says, and I can tell he's set against having this conversation here. "Are you in or out?"

"What about Jack and Chase? Don't you think you should explain yourself to them too?"

"I'd like to explain myself to you first."

I sigh a little bit. "Fine. What time?"

"I'll pick you up at seven o'clock."

"Pick me up?"

"Yeah…I do have some manners you know. Maybe you don't remember but I was always a gentleman to you."

"Until you got horny," I mumble and he glares at me. "Then you got all grabby."

"You had a good time."

"You knocked me up."

"I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sorry about it. Those two boys are the best part of my life," I say confidently. It's true. My sons are the two best things in my life. I love them more than anyone and I would do anything for them.

"That's not what I meant," he says. "I'm not sorry they're here. I'm just sorry that I didn't give you a better life before they arrived."

Fulton returned with three cups of coffee at that moment, and both Portman and I fell silent. He handed us each a coffee and got two very gruff thank-yous for his efforts. "Well," I hear him mutter, "It's nice when everyone's just so pleasant."

The teams reemerge from the locker rooms and the game goes well. Jack ends with a goal and an assist and Chase with two assists. Their team won the game, 5-3.

After the boys and Portman discuss the game, we all decide to go our separate ways. We'll go home, and Portman will go to wherever he's staying. Portman promises the boys that he'll be around for a while and that they'll talk more, just not today. I am kind of relieved. I really don't want to sit through dinner with Portman today too.

Fulton, Jack, and Chase get into my car, and I remember that I have to tell Fulton about tomorrow. Before Portman goes back to his own car, he comes over to talk to me. "Tomorrow at seven," he says.

"Yeah, seven, got it."

"See ya tomorrow, Julie."

"Bye Portman," I say easily. I notice his head move a little bit before I turn and walk towards my car.

I pull out of the lot and head for Fulton's place; we drop him off at his apartment before heading home. The twins eat some leftovers before going off to play video games, and presumably talk about the day's events. I don't eat much; I'm not very hungry. Instead I call to haunt Fulton and tell him about tomorrow evening. He's supportive, as always. After we hang up, I spend a lot of the evening thinking about this long day with Portman. It's the first day I've spent with him in a long time. It's the first day his sons have spent with him in a long time. I run through the day's events in my heads, analyzing and trying not to over analyze; trying not worry, and trying not to be paranoid, but not really able to help it. I thought about the way he said goodbye.

I think he would have kissed my cheek if I hadn't turned away.


	8. Chapter 8

Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this. Sadly, there is no real reason except that I went to college and have neglected a lot of my writing since graduating from high school. I intend to finish these stories, so the updates will continue sporadically. I hope everyone likes this chapter. The next chapter is already in the works, so hopefully there won't be an 17 month gap between updates this time.

Also, I don't know if anyone is going to notice after all this time, but for anyone who does and might want an explantion, here it is: Yes, I eliminated the chapter titles and the song quotes at the beginning of each chapter. I don't feel the lyrics fit as well as I'd like with this story, and the titles weren't so good. I'm really not so good at making up titles...so as a result, both those things are gone. But there is a new chapter! So, yay! Enjoy!

-Kristine

* * *

**Chapter 8**

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After not getting to bed until about 3:30, I got up at about 11:30. I had trouble falling asleep _and_ trouble waking up.

I remember that I had woken up to shut the alarm off at 9:45. It goes off on weekends because I feel like I waste the day if I don't get up early enough. This day, however, I shut it off and rolled over. Considering I'm usually awake by 9:30 or 10 o'clock, Jack and Chase came in around 10:30 to check on me.

"Mom, you okay?" Jack had asked, poking me with a finger.

"Fine, I just didn't get to sleep 'til late, I'll be up a little bit later," I said. They must have bought this because I remember hearing them muttering and walking away. I also remembered glancing at the clock and reading 10:28. This registered, and I must have gone back to sleep because when I opened my eyes again the clock said 11:33.

When I finally come out of my bedroom at around 12:15, Jack and Chase are both lounging on the couch in pajama bottoms and laughing at the TV. They both sit up when they see me.

"You okay, Mom?" Jack repeats his question from earlier.

"Fine, sweetie, why?" I ask. Their concern for me in the last few days has increased ten-fold.

"Because the last time you slept this late you had pneumonia and your breathing was so labored we were afraid you were going to die so –" Jack starts, and as what sometimes happens with twins, Chase finishes his brother's sentence,.

"– We called an ambulance and Uncle Fulton and you got really embarrassed and tried to shout at us and had a coughing fit and had to stay at the hospital for three days while Uncle Fulton stayed with us."

I grin sheepishly at this memory, though it is quite possibly one of my least favorite memories, if only for the reason that I scared my children. A mother isn't supposed to scare her children. Well, there is another more selfish reason I dislike this memory. Having an ambulance show up at an apartment building – or anywhere, I guess – attracts a rather large crowd, which watches as the paramedics put you indignantly on stretcher, shove on an oxygen mask, and push you into the back of a glorified bus that flashes lights, makes very loud noise and runs stop lights. I was very embarrassed.

"Well, fortunately, I'm fine this time. I just had trouble sleeping, that's all," I explain, though the two of them still seem doubtful.

"Did you have trouble sleeping because of yesterday?" Chase asks. Chase was always a little bit more perceptive than Jack when it came to my feelings, though I don't imagine that it would be hard for them to guess that yesterday shook me up.

"Yes," I answer him honestly. I've found that occasions are few and far between where lying to my children was the correct way to handle a situation. I was never brutally honest, I always did my best to let them down gently if need be. But flat out lies I've only ever told them a couple of times when the truth would have really hurt them, or if they just weren't ready for the information yet.

I've never been a very good liar either, and my twins have always been very good at knowing when they're being lied to. Not always, but they usually have a way of knowing when they're being given the run around. This is a prime example of how while they're very much the same, they're also very different. Chase, in spite of knowing when he's being lied to, most of the time chooses to think the best of people while Jack is much more suspicious of people's motives.

"You shouldn't let it bug you, Mom, you did great. We're very proud of you," Jack says seriously.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if it had been me, seeing my ex after all this time, I'd have wrung his neck," Jack smiles.

"Excellent display of self-control," Chase grins.

"Thanks," I say. I'm still not sure they believe me but I don't really want to talk about it, so I change the subject. "Have you guys eaten breakfast yet?"

"Mom, it's like…lunch time," Jack points out, glancing at the clock.

"Still…do you guys want pancakes?" I ask them, smiling. Both of them get the same look on their faces that dogs get when they smell pot-roast, and I know the answer is yes, even if it is lunchtime. Pancakes are a weakness Jack and Chase inherited from Portman. The three of them just go nuts over pancakes…all breakfast food, actually. I typically make a big breakfast on weekends, with French Toast on Saturdays and pancakes on Sundays. Needless to say we go through about a bottle of maple syrup per week in this place.

Forty-five minutes later and we're all settling down and the table to eat with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. The pancakes turned out really good, though Jack and Chase pointed out that my pancakes are better when I make them from scratch rather than the mix, but today they had to settle for the mix.

"So, are you going out with him tonight or what?" Jack asks and I nearly choke on my eggs.

"I wasn't planning to tell you until later, how did you know about that?" I ask them.

"Mom, only unintelligent people answer a question with a question," Jack says smartly. I am reminded of my tenth grade English teacher for the second time in two days. I must have given Jack a look because he quickly adds, "Just kidding," and shoves a particularly large bite of bacon into his mouth.

"We know because we have a phone extension in our room and picked it up when we heard you call Uncle Fulton," Chase explains, grinning.

"I knew I shouldn't have put a phone in that room," I mumble. I put a phone extension in their room when they were about ten. I figured that by they were old enough to handle it. It also made them more likely to pick it up if it rang while they were playing video games. They didn't even have to move.

"Oh come on, Ma, what you don't know won't hurt you. How do you think we've been picking out gifts for you all these years? We listen in on lots of your conversations," Jack says easily, grinning too.

It was in that moment that I truly appreciated how sneaky my children could be.

"Well…don't do it anymore," I sigh. "I'd rather you didn't hear everything I say."

"We don't do it a lot. Only when it's necessary, like when you refuse to admit that perfume you kept spraying at the mall was what you really wanted for your birthday," Chase says matter-of-factly, shoveling yet more eggs on to his plate. "Jack, pass the ketchup, will ya?"

"Please," I correct him.

"Please," Chase repeats.

Jack hands the ketchup across the table and then turns his attention back to me. "So are you going to go out with him Mom?"

"What do you two think of him? You're meeting him all over again for the first time. He's your father, what do you think?" I ask them, completely ignoring Jack's question.

Both Jack and Chase mumble incoherently into their food and shove more into their mouths. They have always avoided questions they don't want to answer by eating a lot, or sometimes they're just stalling for time while they take a minute to come up with the truth. I wait patiently for them to answer.

"He seems okay," Chase says after swallowing. "But the jury's still out."

"Why's that?"

"Well," Jack says, "Sure, he's being nice to us now, coming back and talking about hockey and everything, but why is he doing that? Why now? It's a little late to be trying to win Father of the Year. And –" Jack hesitates, but Chase nods him on, and I have the strangest feeling they rehearsed this before actually saying it to me. "–Well, we don't like anyone who treats our mother badly."

"What do you mean? He never treated me badly," I tell them.

"Mom, we consider leaving you flat with two toddlers treating you badly," Jack says.

"It wasn't that bad," I lie. Wow, there's one of those blatant lies I don't usually tell.

And I can tell both of them know I'm lying to them. "You think we don't remember," Chase says, "But we do, Ma. We remember the way you used to cry. One of my earliest memories is of you crying to Uncle Fulton and saying you wish he'd come back."

"And we remember, Mom, when you had to work two jobs and were hardly ever home. It really wasn't that long ago," Jack adds. "To us, that's treating you badly. And there's also Uncle Fulton. Wasn't Dad supposed to be his best friend and then just took off without even saying goodbye? That couldn't have felt good."

"Your Uncle Fulton and your father will work out their own problems," I mumble. I look down at the table, I had no idea they remembered when I used to cry. I can actually feel tears welling up in my eyes now, but I blink them back. Hopefully Jack and Chase don't see them.

"Which brings us back to our original question. Are you going out with him?" Jack asks. They don't seem to have noticed that my eyes aren't quite focused and I'm blinking a lot. Or they have the good grace not to mention it. Either way, I appreciate it.

"Well, yes, actually I was going to go out with him," I say slowly to make sure my voice doesn't accidentally crack and give me away. "But what do you guys think I should do?"

"Go with him, and then after he's paid for the meal, wring his neck," Jack grins, but Chase doesn't answer right away, and seems to be thinking about something.

"Do whatever makes you happiest, Mom," Chase says finally. "If you don't want to go, then don't go. If you want to go, then go. You deserve an explanation."

"What is with you two?" I ask them. "I don't ever remember you two being this concerned about my feelings. And don't you want an explanation too?"

"Of course we do, Mom," Chase says. "But we think you should settle things first."

"Why?"

They both look at me, then at each other, and to my surprise, it's Jack who answers. Jack isn't always the quickest when it comes to picking up my feelings. "It's just that his leaving and his coming back now after so long…it's not hurting us the way it's hurting you. We never knew the guy, we didn't love him like you did. We never knew what we were missing, so we didn't miss him. He may have stepped all over us, but we were too young to feel it or know what it meant. And we've turned out just fine…so far anyway," he smiles.

"The point is that you gave him two boys and your life and he just left you. You did a good job taking care of us in spite of everything. And you gave us everything we wanted," Chase says. "It's up to you, Mom. Don't worry about us, please. We can settle things on our own terms and on our own time. But we're worried about you. It's hard for you, and we'll do whatever you need us to do and be as supportive as you need us to be."

I begin to clear the now empty breakfast plates from the table. I'm touched by this display of affection. I had no idea they had given this much thought regarding how I would feel. I thought they'd be more wrapped up in their own feelings, the way teenagers typically are.

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me," I smile, only half-teasing. "I really do appreciate your concerns, but don't worry so much, okay? It'll be all right." I'm not sure I really believe everything will be all right, but I do hope it ends up that way.

"Okay. We love ya, Mom," Jack says, and he flushes slightly. He doesn't usually say these kinds of things out loud. "And we want you to be happy. That's all."

The boys help me finish clearing up the kitchen quietly. I guess they feel that they've said everything they need to say. I follow them down the hallway to where our bedrooms are.

As they're about to enter their room, Chase says, "Oh, and Mom, if he hurts you again –"

"–We'll kill him," Jack finishes.

I smile weakly and shut the door to my bedroom. I make sure I hear their door click shut before bursting into tears.


End file.
